Condemned to live
by Neyrelle
Summary: Centered on Snape with a little bit of Hermione for counterbalance and a hint of Lily at the core.  The overused cliché in a different light. Rated mature for the adult approach, rather than for the adult content, though both are found within.


Centered on Snape with a little bit of Hermione for counterbalance and a hint of Lily at the core. The overused cliché in a different light. Rated mature for the adult approach, rather than for the adult content, although you will find both in here. Some might find this too fast-paced, but it was written in one long shot and by no means do I intend to use tenths of chapters to develop characters. I've also completely ignored the whole age gap and former student issues.

I don't do disclaimers. This is a fan fiction site and that should be enough of a statement.

*Edited some spelling errors and polished the text a little bit*

xxx

The room was dark and austere, rather depressive, one might have thought. But, then again, he certainly wasn't the merry type. Severus Snape stood in his old quarters, down on Spinner's End, still breathing a little coarse, still shaking now and then, still bearing the markings on his neck, but alive.

At first he hadn't understood why. As he had drawn a renewed breath on those bloody floorboards in the Shrieking Shack, those damned survival instincts had taken him over, as he struggled to stand, and the first object he had grasped had turned out to be a port-key to another place near the school well infested with people. People whom had recently learned from the mouth of their "saviour" of his allegiances and sacrifices.

After thoroughly crossing the threshold back onto this side, he had remembered Nagini's fangs into his flesh and Lily's eyes mirroring his on that little whelp's face. He remembered pouring his last mission and his life's regrets into the boy's hands and he remembered darkness enveloping him. He had died there, in that miserable spot. And yet he was alive.

Had Hell deemed him unworthy and spat him out? Most unlikely.

I was not long before he had become certain that some other devil had kicked him back into existence.

Dumbledore.

That old fool!

He would have been quite capable of foreseeing the events and placing some long-forgotten revival spell over the place, just for his own amusement.

That wretched scheming old fool had decided to impose his will on him well beyond his grave!

And then, after the recovery, after the hustle and bustle of his official pardon and the inevitable rise into heroism, he had managed to sneak into Hogwarts headmaster's office and have a rather unpleasant conversation with one of the paintings.

"I condemn you to live."

Those words still echoed into his mind.

"Severus, why you wanted to die, we both know. Whether you agree or not with my saving you is not the point. You may think once your act of penance or your revenge, whichever you like to choose, complete, you might find rest and oblivion in death. But I happen to know a little bit more about death than you, and to know quite a bit about your past…

"So, now you're my confessor!" Snape had spat with a bitter sneer.

Dumbledore's gaze had remained mild, almost paternal.

"Haven't I been that all of our years together? Many of us have fallen, that will find rest in the afterlife. But not you. You see, the only peace here is the one you bring with yourself. I'd much rather you roamed the world of the living in your own flesh, than as a ghost. You, my dark young friend, must live to find that bit of peace for yourself. Go now, and let the dead sleep!"

xxx

He hoped the worse would be over quickly. He loathed the very idea of being cheered by crowds. Not because he might have felt he didn't deserve it, but because it was bloody tiresome. His torments and regrets over his past were something engraved into his soul, but at the same time they were his own private affairs, not a subject for the entertainment of the masses. Along with his … unworthiness of even remembering her dear face, he knew his own worth in what had been accomplished and knew exactly how much that stupid mob owed him. But for all he cared, their bliss was a mere side effect of his real purposes, and he wanted them silenced. Respectful, revering if they must be, but silent.

And just when it seemed he had succeeded at discouraging them from keeping him in the center of attention, and had begun to sink into a dull routine, Hermione Granger had the nerve to walk through his front door. He had seen glimpses of her over the previous weeks. While others involved in the Dark Lord's fall have shown no restraint in coming up to him and pouring their souls out along with their nauseating deepest regrets, she had been very reticent in approaching him. Watching him form a distance, mulling over something, taking one step forward and two steps back. He had passed it off as a minor oddity, since many other people didn't quite know how to act around him and the Granger girl was know to have quite a few quirks of her own.

But now it seemed she had gathered herself and made a decision to face him. Less bold than her former teenager persona, she had begun uttering something about thanks and regrets and offerings of help. Seated in her chair, she kept together the appearances of politeness and seemed yet unaware of what had drawn her to that place.

But years of surviving by reading other people's faces left him no room for doubt. The moment he had spotted that particular change in the way she looked at him, he knew what had happened inside of her. It did come as a surprise; everyone considered her almost surgically affixed to the Weasley boy. But war did even stranger things to people...

As she wasn't quite a stranger from across the street, he new he couldn't really be neutral to such changes, but he wasn't quite sure whether to be sorry or angry with her. In truth, the weariness of his own past even made him feel a little pang of guilt at seeing that well known commotion of youth. In the end he decided that, as he well knew it, it was not something one really chooses on purpose, so he had to accept the simple reality of it. But, by Merlin, he wasn't going to beat about the bush, while enduring several weeks, maybe months, of her exploratory presence, until it would dawn on her. He was going to get it out of her right then and there, consequences be damned.

Just as she was finishing a phrase of what must have been a much pondered over speech, he cut her short:

"Miss Granger, listening to all these pretty little words pouring out of you is quite depressing. It almost makes me think you're not different from all those stupid nameless faces out there!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Miss Granger, I've had my fill of being begged my pardon over and over again, these last few weeks. "

How distressed she suddenly looked, facing him from the opposite armchair, a cup of tea passing from hand to hand, her young figure suddenly remembering the stress of past potion classes.

"It's not like that, Professor! I'm not apologizing! I had my share of hell. I do understand. I'm just still… I mean… I wish you would have let more people know what you were facing… for your own good."

"Miss Granger, I value my privacy. Always have, always will. No matter of your opinion of my "own good". And stop calling me "Professor". I think my teaching style made it quite clear I never much cared for that particular title."

"Still… Mr. … Snape. To bottle inside something of that magnitude, even from the other members of the Order…and yet to succeed alone…"

"Miss Granger, why did you come here to see me?"

"You… were… dead…" Pause. Confusion in her eyes as she couldn't fully grasp the answer. Her subconscious countenance practically yelling at him "to hear your voice". Her hands managing to put the cup on the side table.

"Miss Granger, do you intend this to be your only visit, or should I brace myself for similar calls?"

Silence. Some shade of fear of rejection looming over her. He leaned in closer from his seat and lowered his voice.

"I'd rather we took this the short way. Hermione, what do you see when you look at me?"

He raised his hand as she had opened her mouth.

"I'm not going to play the hero, not for them and certainly not for _you_. You like to see me as some fallen soul that has redeemed himself. You think you've uncovered the tragedy of my life and now you need to bare some of my pain… to ease my suffering…"

"To show human sympathy! I felt an obligation…"

"You've had plenty of occasions to express those. Why seek me in private?"

The Granger he knew would have normally been outraged at such claims. She tried to look outraged. Her own mind hadn't reached that far yet into her motives. But the truth laid nestled underneath those unruly curls of hers.

He stood up and approached her, still holding her gaze. Whatever was within her, it was starting to boil.

"Did I misinterpret something? If I am wrong, why don't you storm out that door never to return?

She rose from her seat as well, but that first step towards the exit never came. She frowned.

"But I only meant to…"

She was blushing with rage now... or was it truly rage?

"My dear, I am somewhat experienced with the psyche of women of your age. I'm sure you didn't plan that far ahead. You're here just to thank me. You feel indebted to me, like all the rest of the world, but in a slightly different fashion. There is something inside of you that drives you to it, something you cannot name. Something you dare not name, because it would suddenly turn your world up side down once more.

"What on Earth are you implying? I just came to visit… You… You… You think that I came here on an irrational impulse!"

"Yes."

"That I'm acting on some attraction… based on some stupid fantasy to nurture and mend!"

"Yes."

The nerve! And him standing only one step away with that inscrutable gaze! Something had snapped, but she feared she did not know which way.

"How dare you!"

He caught her wrist just as fast as it had risen to strike.

"I'm just burning a few steps to spare us the misery. The Dark Lord might be dead and gone, that doesn't mean I'm going to turn soft and put up with this."

Rage and defense mingled in her voice.

"Put up with what? My being human? My having feelings? What is so wrong about that?"

She suddenly froze, taking in the words she just had uttered. His dark eyes softened and aged a bit. He let go of her wrist.

"I didn't say it is wrong. But the manner is stupid. For one who places such great value on their own intelligence, I would expect you to have the courage to acknowledge those feelings and not let yourself be lost by them."

"I don't understand what…"

Yet she started to understand.

"If you're to fall for me, fine!" He grinned a little "I might be taking you up on your offer. I'm not going to deny human nature. You have somewhat blossomed of late and by no means do I view myself a monk. But don't delude yourself that I need nurturing and saving. There was only one woman who could have offered me that, and she's dead."

"You're monstrous…"

"No, just direct. I'm teaching you to embrace truth. Take me for what I am, and I might just do the same. That being said…"

He leaned down his face to hers and stopped one inch away to give her a chance to refuse. She didn't move, she didn't turn her face away and she didn't event blink. She just took one deep shuddering breath as he covered that last inch.

She couldn't believe this new reality of herself being kissed by him, when just hours prior she hesitated whether she should show up at his door and whether he would open it. And not a shy kiss either. He seemed to drink her whole and just the matter of trying to respond to him quieted her thousand thoughts and let her mind go blank. The situation was surreal and unthinkable and yet she was reveling in it. Not just in the physical sensations - she had felt passion before - but in the feeling of being kissed by _this_ man. This man whom she had been accustomed to despise for so long... This strange unreadable twisted man. Without realizing, she started to gather her arms around him, as heat rose within her. Merlin knew where this was going to lead to…

Then, just as suddenly, he retreated and she gasped at the fracture of contact.

"Severus!"

"You look stupefied."

"I thought…"

"… that I was going to drag you down to the floor, tear your robes off and let some unspoken flames of passion consume you right here?" He arched one eyebrow. "Would you want me to?"

She didn't find it in her to show the smallest gesture of disapproval at the somewhat rude mocking tone of that proposition.

His light grin faded into his usual serious and determined gaze, with some sudden weight added on it.

"I want you to say it to my face. The real reason why you came to me. The one you didn't even dare say to yourself while you were planning your little speech. And the fear that comes with it."

She was clearly shaken by the speed with which all this was unfolding, but he knew she had the strength to see it through, even as she stammered and searched for words.

"I came here because all we had… all _I_ had known and thought about you all these years has irreversibly clashed with what has been revealed about you… There is no logic to it, but since that clash I've literally been drawn to you. It has stirred a deep… feeling… that you are someone whom I could trust to let myself be mastered by…that I needed to do this…"

She practically turned livid upon uttering those words.

He leaned in again and whispered into her ear.

"And what do you fear most, Hermione?"

"That this feeling is not real and that you are not worthy of me…"

He gathered her to him and a strange voice came out of him.

"I know what you're talking about… A long time ago, I've succumbed to the fear first and darkness took me. Then the feeling won, and I've suffered through hell trying to live up to it."

He slowly pulled back and stared intently with his deep dark gaze into hers.

"The truth is between them. Never let one of them rule over the other. Keep them both in balance and keep yourself sane."

xxx

She certainly was lovely. Half shy, half bold, half naked, half dressed, unsure of her actions, yet eager to feel him respond to her touch, half certain of her charm, half scared of his rejection… He saw his younger self in her. Or better said, he saw what he should have been like, had he walked a straighter path and been blessed to hold Lilly in his arms like this. Just this terrified and just this blissful.

Tangled red curls, freed breasts rising and falling with the rasp breathing, their peaks hardened by his touch, skin glistening, thighs pressing on the material of his pants, eyes that dared not open, lest they would break some spell. One moment she hanged on to him for dear life and shuddered as he removed yet another piece of clothing off her and kissed her neck, the other she was kissing his chest, hands clumsily but hungrily uncovering him, sheathing him below.

And then… the embrace. Him covering her figure, entering her warmth, reveling in it. Taking her and witnessing through veiled eyes the wonder on her face at experiencing this with him. As if he was something Godsend to her. If not for the physical pleasure, it almost made him melancholic. And then the rise, the quickening of pace, the rasp breathing. Her unbridled energy, the emotion behind her incoherent sounds. It almost passed on to him, making him wanting to believe in this… But at the end his mind blissfully emptied through his own climax, while his spent body pinned hers against the sheets.

He didn't mean to play master and servant. As willing as she seemed, he had been forced to play that game for far too long to find it appealing. And yet, he will have his moments when he will corner her, catching her wrists, others when he would feel like turning her on her arms and knees, that need to immerse himself a little harder and deeper, to seek that threshold between pleasure and pain, that was inherent to his nature. But just as long as her shudders and whimpers would carry arousal in their nature. And she will learn to do the same to him, and he will let her do it.

Lily was gone. She had been gone from him long before her death, never to choose him, never to reciprocate his love. And now this young thing had so unexpectedly seen some sort of light into his darkness. No matter how he would warn her, she will go blindly on, trying to "mend his broken spirit". And when she will tire and become disillusioned, she will go on her way. Or, perhaps she truly had some of his madness and this love of hers would genuinely last… Either way, he had gone through far worse, not to survive this.

She would do. For the present he enjoyed her warmth and the energy of her mind. He will be careful never to feed her false declarations and vows. That much he had made clear to her form the start. But for all she seemed so eager to offer, he will pleasure her, help her grow and love her in his own distant way...

He let out a long breath, as he closed his eyes and adjusted her frame to him, in a way that would not let his arm go numb. She let out a contended sigh in her sleep.

Yes, perhaps there was a way to rest and find oblivion in this existence. After all, he had been condemned to live…

The End

I do not believe one who had it in his nature to be torn by strong emotions could simply be un-torn.


End file.
